Dealing with the diagnosis: Two in one
I vividly remember sitting in the pod of
seats at the psychologist’s office waiting
to hear what felt like the hundredth person
to chime in on what’s wrong with me. I
scratched in my notebook that I felt like an
algorithm being processed.
She’s not eating, check the box; she’s sleeping too much, check the box; she’s un-medicated, check the box.
It had been about two months since the day I decided my life wasn’t worth living anymore, and in that time, I had learned how to navigate my city based on which therapy I was coming from and going to.
The verdict? Rapid cycle bipolar disorder… I’ll let you Google it.
As I walked out of the building, I remember wrestling with the question of whether I was glad to know my diagnosis or not. There is no doubt that being diagnosed has effect on you and your perception of yourself.
One of the positive things about being diagnosed is that it helps you understand that you are not your illness.
“Nothing has changed in you biophysically, but your whole sense of yourself might shift,” Annemarie Jutel, author of Putting a Name to It: Diagnosis in Contemporary Society, said in an interview with BBC.
There’s a time somewhere between the first stirrings of imbalance and being diagnosed that you feel plain bat-shit crazy. It’s really hard to distinguish whether you have something or you are something. Am I just crazy or do I have a serious illness? Naming it helps you realize that it’s only one part of you.
In addition to that, you’re given the gift of knowing that there are other people who feel like you do. There is great comfort to be sought knowing that others have felt the pain you feel and made it through to the other side.
But being diagnosed can also ignite a whole host of counter-productive attitudes. Victimizing oneself is a major one. It feels like a huge weight is lifted, because it isn’t your fault that you can’t control yourself.
It was Nietsczhe in The Gay Science that said, “Unspeakably more depends on what things are called than on what they are.”
The name gives the illness power, and it’s easy to let it carry you away. It gives you permission to act irrationally without repercussion.
For a time after I was diagnosed, I would introduce myself to new people and quickly bring up what I had been through.
It’s like I was introducing two people: Amy and bipolar. Amy’s the good part, the one you’ll see most often, but sometimes bipolar comes around and fucks shit up.
“Creating new names and assessments and apparent truths is enough to create new ‘things,’” Nietschze concluded.
But I think, like most other circumstances, that “thing” he’s talking about can be molded into nearly whatever you choose. Being diagnosed can be a scapegoat, a back door to slip out of when you’ve decided to raise a little hell. But it can also be a great gift. It has the ability to help you see past the haze of your mind, connect with others who are in the same boat and provide information about how to cope.
Now, five years later, most of my friends (hi, guys) don’t even know about my past or my mental health. I do identify as bipolar, but I choose to recognize that although most of the time I am in control of how I feel — balance is something that comes a little less naturally to me.
She’s no longer another person in the room, she’s just a small part of who I am that I carry with me.
Editorial opinions or comments expressed in this online edition of Interrobang newspaper reflect the views of the writer and are not those of the Interrobang or the Fanshawe Student Union. The Interrobang is published weekly by the Fanshawe Student Union at 1001 Fanshawe College Blvd., P.O. Box 7005, London, Ontario, N5Y 5R6 and distributed through the Fanshawe College community. Letters to the editor are welcome. All letters are subject to editing and should be emailed. All letters must be accompanied by contact information. Letters can also be submitted online by clicking here.
She’s not eating, check the box; she’s sleeping too much, check the box; she’s un-medicated, check the box.
It had been about two months since the day I decided my life wasn’t worth living anymore, and in that time, I had learned how to navigate my city based on which therapy I was coming from and going to.
The verdict? Rapid cycle bipolar disorder… I’ll let you Google it.
As I walked out of the building, I remember wrestling with the question of whether I was glad to know my diagnosis or not. There is no doubt that being diagnosed has effect on you and your perception of yourself.
One of the positive things about being diagnosed is that it helps you understand that you are not your illness.
“Nothing has changed in you biophysically, but your whole sense of yourself might shift,” Annemarie Jutel, author of Putting a Name to It: Diagnosis in Contemporary Society, said in an interview with BBC.
There’s a time somewhere between the first stirrings of imbalance and being diagnosed that you feel plain bat-shit crazy. It’s really hard to distinguish whether you have something or you are something. Am I just crazy or do I have a serious illness? Naming it helps you realize that it’s only one part of you.
In addition to that, you’re given the gift of knowing that there are other people who feel like you do. There is great comfort to be sought knowing that others have felt the pain you feel and made it through to the other side.
But being diagnosed can also ignite a whole host of counter-productive attitudes. Victimizing oneself is a major one. It feels like a huge weight is lifted, because it isn’t your fault that you can’t control yourself.
It was Nietsczhe in The Gay Science that said, “Unspeakably more depends on what things are called than on what they are.”
The name gives the illness power, and it’s easy to let it carry you away. It gives you permission to act irrationally without repercussion.
For a time after I was diagnosed, I would introduce myself to new people and quickly bring up what I had been through.
It’s like I was introducing two people: Amy and bipolar. Amy’s the good part, the one you’ll see most often, but sometimes bipolar comes around and fucks shit up.
“Creating new names and assessments and apparent truths is enough to create new ‘things,’” Nietschze concluded.
But I think, like most other circumstances, that “thing” he’s talking about can be molded into nearly whatever you choose. Being diagnosed can be a scapegoat, a back door to slip out of when you’ve decided to raise a little hell. But it can also be a great gift. It has the ability to help you see past the haze of your mind, connect with others who are in the same boat and provide information about how to cope.
Now, five years later, most of my friends (hi, guys) don’t even know about my past or my mental health. I do identify as bipolar, but I choose to recognize that although most of the time I am in control of how I feel — balance is something that comes a little less naturally to me.
She’s no longer another person in the room, she’s just a small part of who I am that I carry with me.
Editorial opinions or comments expressed in this online edition of Interrobang newspaper reflect the views of the writer and are not those of the Interrobang or the Fanshawe Student Union. The Interrobang is published weekly by the Fanshawe Student Union at 1001 Fanshawe College Blvd., P.O. Box 7005, London, Ontario, N5Y 5R6 and distributed through the Fanshawe College community. Letters to the editor are welcome. All letters are subject to editing and should be emailed. All letters must be accompanied by contact information. Letters can also be submitted online by clicking here.
